


Synergists

by aejrogota



Category: Final Fantasy XIII Series, Final Fantasy XIII-2
Genre: Canon-Compliant, Character Study, Dialogue-Driven, Family Bonding, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Short One Shot, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:54:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28161249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aejrogota/pseuds/aejrogota
Summary: After the Fall, Hope’s dad helps him move into his dormitory at the newly founded Academy. He hopes to grow closer to his son but isn't sure what to say or do.
Relationships: Bartholomew Estheim & Hope Estheim
Kudos: 9





	Synergists

A weathervane stood on the roof of the shop across from the dormitory window. It dithered about in the light crosswinds rolling off the crystal pillar. The noontime summer in New Palumpolum was bright, the seaside breeze rich and warm and sweet, even as Cocoon’s sterile shadow shifted overhead and cooled the sprawling cityscape with the passing of the day.

Bartholomew huffed as he heaved the heaviest of the boxes atop Hope’s new desk. His son barely paid him mind; Hope stood off in the corner facing away from him, out of reach. He was transfixed by something he had pulled from a box he just opened and was rotating it in the light.

Bartholomew shifted himself a little to the left to peek over his son’s shoulder and caught glimpse of a reflection playing off a shattered frame. He couldn’t make out the image but he knew what Hope had found. When they were packing up at home, Bartholomew had slipped the photograph into that box, one of the few pieces he had managed to salvage from the ruins of their devastated apartment back in Palumpolum. He cleared his throat, hoping to summon words to meet the moment. Hope quickly glimpsed up at him over his shoulder in anticipation.

“So anyway, she would have been proud of you.”

Hope didn’t smile. He held the frame pensively for a few more seconds before breaking gaze with his father. He very gingerly placed it, face down, back into its box. Hope then went over to a different box and started to unpack his bedsheets. His father closed his eyes and drew a quiet and defeated breath, deciding to focus on unpacking Hope’s books.

Bit by bit, Hope’s new home at the fledgling Academy began to take the shape of one. Most of their possessions which had survived the fall of Cocoon had not been at home; all they still owned were old and forgotten bits and bobs from their storage unit on the far end of the city. Hope’s bedsheets were a gaudy purple set from when he was a little kid; he barely fit into the few changes of clothes he still had, and was left with a largely mismatched jumble of socks and shoes. It mattered little to Bartholomew, who was mostly just relieved that he had found Hope an opportunity to move on after the chaos.

It was a minute before Bartholomew realized that Hope was re-checking the boxes and his various drawers with an anxious urgency. He watched Hope struggle until their eyes met.

“Hey, dad? Have you seen my little black velvet box anywhere?”

Just then, Bartholomew’s crystal pager buzzed; it was an urgent message from Administrator Rygdea. Hope watched his father as he silenced it without a second thought.

“Yeah, you forgot it on your nightstand back home. I wasn’t sure if you still wanted it.”

Bartholomew produced the box from his pocket. Hope quickly stepped over to Bartholomew as he let him yank it out of his hand. Hope opened it, revealing a green cluster of glassy crystals cushioned by billows of black fabric. Ever since Hope had been unbranded as a l’Cie, the warm light at his crystarium’s heart had dissipated into even less than a dim and hollow glimmer.

Bartholomew’s expression stiffened.

“It was a cursed time in your life. You should have thrown it away.”

Hope looked up to him sourly.

“Dad, I won’t ever let myself forget them.”

Hope fell silent and walked over to his bed before taking a seat. Leaning his head against the frame, he looked out the window and noticed that the weathervane had since steadied itself. His eyes traced the invisible contours of the sustained breeze which now pressed its way back towards the pillar.

Bartholomew sighed and shook his head slowly. Taking a seat next to Hope on the bed, he clasped his hands around his son’s and gently closed the box back around the crystal. They sat together for a while. Suddenly, Bartholomew chuckled softly to himself.

“What?”

“You know, your mother was the one who thought of your name.”

Hope tore his gaze away from the window and looked back up at his father.

“At the time I really didn’t like the idea. We argued about it for days. What if his life becomes terrible? He’ll look at his name and curse himself for not living up to our standards for his happiness.”

Bartholomew shook his head.

“But she was right, you know. The times you need hope the most are when it is most ironical to dream of even wanting it.”

He beckoned to the small box which Hope so protectively held. Hope hesitated at first but handed it over.

Bartholomew opened it. With his handkerchief, he carefully dislodged a bit of dust which had only just settled between two of the crystal shards when the box had last been opened. Without looking away from his work he kept talking.

“I’m sorry. I know you’ll never forget them. You’ll carry your hope for them wherever you go, in everything you do.”

Bartholomew closed the velvet box and carefully handed it back to his son.

“They are in good hands. The best hands.”

Bartholomew – hesitantly, at first – placed his palm on Hope’s shoulder, squeezing it in affirmation.

Hope nodded silently. He leaned into his dad’s chest and closed his eyes as Bartholomew wrapped his arms around him.


End file.
